


Team Free Will, Plus One

by Carryonwaywardsouls



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carryonwaywardsouls/pseuds/Carryonwaywardsouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years have passed since Gabriel's death, and now suddenly he's back: half-dead and powerless. In Sam and Dean's reluctant care, he must learn how to deal with being so human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Team Free Will, Plus One

Dark. It was so dark. Colder than he had ever felt. And wet. He could feel the rain splattering on his bruised skin. He was in agony. It seemed every inch of his body throbbed in pain. Ruby red liquid poured from his abdomen, providing him temporary warmth but also draining him of what little strength he had left in him. The world around him had already began to spin, which didn't help fight down the nausea either. Was he dying? No, he was already dead, he remembered, so he must have been in Hell. But where were the demons? The fire and brimstone? There was something off about this whole thing. It was too peaceful.

Gabriel had never been so scared in all his millennia of existence.

It was very rare that the word 'scared' could apply to him; so rare in fact that he could count the number of times he had felt the emotion on both hands - and almost every time was down to Michael and Lucifer. But here he was, his whole body quivering in terror as he tried to wrap his head around the situation he was in. He didn't know if there were any evil sons of bitches waiting to gank him as soon as he let his guard down, or whether he was cursed in some sort of angel purgatory. Either way, he couldn't simply lie there and wait until he bled away all his energy.

Summoning what little courage remained in him, the archangel grasped onto a nearby plastic pipe and heaved himself to his feet; trying not to cry out in pain with every movement. Once he was standing - wobbling unsteadily as his legs trembled - he began taking torturous steps through what seemed to be a grimy alleyway. As he stumbled onto the empty street, his gaze fell upon a sleek black car parked on the side of the road. Through the thick fog of pain and disorientation in his brain, he recognised the brand - '67 Chevy Impala. Oh boy, these demon scum really wanted to wind him up, didn't they? Walking into the crappy hotel was all too predictable and the perfect setup for an ambush, but nevertheless, Gabriel clung onto the tiniest fragment of hope that there would be help and refuge instead.

Placing all of his weight against the wall to support him, he dragged himself towards the door and staggered inside. Ignoring the horrified intake of breath from the woman behind the desk, and offering no explanation as to why he was currently cut, bruised and bleeding profusely from his chest, he forced his sore throat to work.

"I'm looking for... two boys," he croaked, "one tall... long brown hair... and a shorter blond guy... both attractive you might say..."

It seemed as though the woman was debating on whether to give him any information or call for help, but after a few seconds she decided against the latter, "I think I recall two men like that coming in earlier, room thirty-four"

Gabriel forced a somewhat grateful smile, "thank you."

"Would you like me to call someone?" She questioned, staring at his injuries.

"No... just a bar fight... I'm fine."

He hauled himself up the flight of stairs and down the corridor, a fresh wave of nausea overcoming him and his weak muscles threatening to collapse on him at any moment. But by some small miracle, the angel finally reached the room and pushed on the handle; barely having time to be thankful that the door was unlocked before his legs gave way and he fell to the floor, blacking out as a surprised yelp reached his ears.

* * *

"Sammy!" Dean roared, leaping off the bed and towards where Gabriel had blacked out on the floor. His brother peered around the bathroom door, his expression contorted with confusion until he laid eyes on the archangel, and then his brain kicked into action and he immediately moved to help Dean carry the smaller man onto the bed.

"I thought he was-" Dean started.

Sam cut him off before he could finish his sentence, already throwing their possessions around the room as he rummaged for their medical supplies, "not important right now, Dean, we've got to stop the bleeding and then we can ask questions."

"Can he even bleed to death if he's already kicked it?"

"Dean, you're not helping!" Sam snapped, but quickly pulled himself together and handed Dean some sterile gauze to put pressure on the bleeding. He was hardly surgeon material, but brief lessons from his father and previous experiences of patching Dean and others up gave Sam basic knowledge of how to deal with this kind of injury. Check the airways, Sam recalled, if Gabriel couldn't breathe then give it four minutes and he could be left with permanent brain damage - if that was possible for an archangel. Sam by no means had any professional equipment with him, so all he could do was lean in and feel the shuddering breaths as confirmation that he could breathe; at least for now.

"Sammy, he's gonna bleed out if you don't stitch him up," Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder, and Sam's eyes flickered to the soaked gauze and the wound that was still pumping blood despite Dean's weight pressing on it.

Sam's eyes flashed with terror as Dean reached for the needle and nylon, the words 'I'm not a doctor' came to mind before Sam shook his head; if he didn't do something then there was no doubt Gabriel would die... again. Taking a slow breath to collect himself, Sam reached for a clean cloth and the sanitizing materials and carefully cleaned out the gaping wound as best he could. With shaking hands, Sam accepted the needle and began to stitch up the gash carefully, and with all the amateur skills he possessed. It was awkwardly done, and a rather slow process, but eventually the blood flow had all but stopped and Sam could relax at last.

"Nice job, Sammy, you did well," Dean patted his shoulder, grinning at him as he dealt with the smaller cuts and grazes.

"Thanks, man, I just hope that'll do it."

"The real question here is what the _hell_ are we meant to do with him now?"


End file.
